


You Shine a Little Love on My Life

by poprocks



Series: And I Love You So [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Mutual Pining, Requited Love, awkward idiots dancing awkwardly around feelings, but also peter respecting gamora's boundaries, even if it's a hella brief mention, i'm always here for that, pansexual peter quill gives me life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 04:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11775456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poprocks/pseuds/poprocks
Summary: Gamora touches him, and Peter Quill suddenly looks like the happiest man alive.





	You Shine a Little Love on My Life

**Author's Note:**

> /bangs pots and pans together while shouting GAMORA LOVES PETER QUILL
> 
> anyway.
> 
> here's these idiots and their first kiss. written for a word prompt from **kitandkanoodle** , "can we pretend i didn't just say that?"

When Peter thinks Gamora isn’t looking, he stares at her.

Gamora  _knows_  that he does this, because with all of her training, she’s learned to trust her instincts, and her awareness tells her exactly when she’s being watched. A number of times, she’s turned away from whatever holds her focus to see Peter, his green eyes practically glued to the way she moves, the curve of her cheek, the sway of her hair. He looks almost lost in her, so much so that he’s completely drowned in whatever reverie he falls into until she startles him out of it with a short, “ _Peter_.”

He always jerks to attention, straightens up and fumbles to find something to pass himself off with. (“Uh, what? Just fixing this, uh, trigger; it keeps sticking, you know? Nothin’ to see here.”) Truth be told, she doesn’t  _mind_  the fact that he stares, and the longer it goes on, the more endearing she finds it. When they’d first left Xandar, as the Guardians were all trying to figure out how they fit together as a team, Gamora had bristled at the way he watched her, if only because she’d been quick to assume he’d been fantasizing or imagining something especially lewd – but a few quelling glares seemed to discourage him. He never  _did_  anything about it, either, so as she eased in his company, so did her response to his staring.

She became comfortable with Peter, and in turn, became comfortable with the way he looked at her.

It’s  _reverent_ , she comes to realize, something like awe lighting his eyes. Gamora doesn’t consider herself  _worth_  that sort of wonderment, but she sees it in his smile, in his gaze, and particularly when he’s just… watching her.

It’s strange to think she could inspire such a positive response in someone, after years of terror and intimidation (though she’s certain Peter is probably still a  _little_  afraid of her, if only because he knows how easily she could snap his spine, if she felt so inclined). When Peter looks at her, she doesn’t feel like a weapon; she doesn’t feel like some deadly blade, sharp enough that one touch could slice a man open. He treats her like a force of nature, with due respect and deference, but he doesn’t recoil when she reaches out to him, doesn’t flinch or brace himself for injury. If anything, he melts with a hand at his shoulder, when her fingers brush ever so lightly through his hair.

Gamora touches him, and Peter Quill suddenly looks like the happiest man alive.

But despite how effortless their interactions have become, how she indulges him in all the right moments, Peter still  _stares_  at her. She thinks sometimes he mumbles under his breath, snippets of words here and there, but today, for the first time in a while, she actually catches what he says.

“…  _Christ_ , I just wanna kiss you right now.”

Gamora looks up immediately from where she cleans Godslayer, an oiled rag in her hands, and her brows lift in response. “What was that?”

No, she absolutely heard him, enhanced as her hearing happens to be, and Peter starts suddenly, nearly dropping the bowl of bright teal cereal in his hands.

“I— wha—what? I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t say anything,” he scoffs, clearing his throat. “Or, well, I said I just wanna— eat this weird cereal right now. That’s all, dude.”

From where Gamora sits at one of the tables in the  _Quadrant’s_  mess, she can see the color rising in his cheeks. That flush makes it all the way to the tips of his ears before Peter tries to cover his embarrassment with a pointed bite of his food.

Gamora looks thoroughly unimpressed. “That was a terrible lie.”

“… It was an excellent lie, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter speaks with his mouth full, waving his spoon around dismissively. “Besides,” he pauses to swallow, “I can’t believe you would accuse  _me_  of lying, Gamora. I’m like, the most honest guy on this ship.”

That flat expression doesn’t budge. “ _That_  was an even worse lie.”

Peter’s lips twist slightly, his nose wrinkling. “Yeah, well. You know.”

“You said you wanted to kiss me.”

Peter nearly chokes on his next bite of cereal, coughing and thumping his chest with his fist. “I—  _shit_.” She can see him bite the inside of his cheek, his hand clenching around his spoon. “I’m— look, can we pretend I didn't just say that?” He actually looks…  _abashed._  Genuinely embarrassed.

Gamora’s head tilts as she considers him, slowly setting her sword and the cleaning rag onto the table. “Why would we do that?”

He grimaces, dropping his spoon into the bowl and setting it all aside. Apparently, he’s lost his appetite. “Because we haven’t… you know.” He waves a hand, as if that illustrates exactly what he’s trying to say. “ _You know._ ”

“We haven’t kissed,” she finishes for him.

Peter blushes again. He tries to hide it by rubbing slowly at the back of his neck, unable to quite meet Gamora’s gaze. “Yeah, that.”

For all that she’s heard of Peter Quill and his escapades, of his pelvic sorcery and the trail of women (and others) and one-night-stands he’s left in his wake, she never would have thought  _this_  would fluster him. All the contact they’ve had leading up to this moment has been… brief. Sweet. Intimate, if not outright romantic. They’ve danced quietly to the music playing from his Zune; they’ve sat in the silent mess with a bottle between them, passed back and forth as Peter tells her stories from Earth, their knees pressed together or their fingers lightly tangled; they’ve even fallen asleep with Peter leaning on her shoulder as she strokes his hair. They’ve been  _close_ , but they haven’t… done this.

“I’m— sorry.” The apology is somewhat stilted, uncertain, because if Gamora has learned anything about Peter, it’s that sincerity is not his forte. He can spin words for days, talk himself out of nearly any corner he may stumble into, and he can defuse most situations with the right amount of silver-tongued babbling. Genuine contrition, however? His pride is usually far too overblown to allow for such a display.

But that… sounded honest.

“I mean it, just— forget I said anything. I’m not tryin’ to, like, pressure you or— I’m just. You can forget it, if you want. Pretend I didn’t say that.” His shoulders hunch up around his ears, and Gamora gets the distinct impression he’s about to try to make a quick escape to cover his own (imagined) humiliation.

She rises to her feet, closing the distance between them and cutting off his route to the door before he can bolt.

“I have no intention of forgetting it, Peter,” she says, and Peter’s eyes finally dart up to her face, like he needs to see for himself that she’s not fuming or about to lay him flat on the deck.

She reaches out to set a hand on Peter’s chest, and she can feel the way his breathing  _stops_  for a second.

“Gamora…” Careful, warning. Giving her a chance to back out.

Instead, Gamora reaches up, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. She takes another step closer, leaving only bare inches between them. “Are you going to kiss me or do you need written permission?”

The noise out of Peter catches in his throat, half-whine, half-disbelieving gasp, and she can tell he’s trying not to get ahead of himself, but as his hands come up to bracket her cheeks, he  _gives in._

So much of Peter goes into the things that matter to him. He’s often the one to look for all the shortcuts, the easy way out, but when he  _cares?_  Peter cares with every bit of himself. When it matters, he goes all in, and this is no different. She feels swept away in the heat of his lips, the genuine  _feeling_  that sparks between them. Kissing Peter Quill is like sunshine falling on her skin. Like the smell of grass after rain. Like the peace of looking out across a star-filled sky to the galaxies that lie beyond.

Kissing Peter Quill is like  _coming home._


End file.
